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A grinding narrative set on a razor's edge, the culmination of a lifetime. |
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It stutters to a stop, then crumbles into ruins, bones held up by wire. |
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You don't put the gun in your mouth because you like the way that it tastes. |
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It's a testament to the will of man and the progress we have made. |
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A debt we all must pay, bit by bit by agonizing pieces of ourselves. |
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To warlords and profiteers all huddled in dark masses, xenophobes and killers. |
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Bone soaked in blurry tears, the matted grey of ashes, a liturgy on our failings. |
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Choke down a Eucharist of flesh and tinny blood to find a fragile, fleeting peace. |
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You don't put the gun in your mouth because you like the way that it tastes. |
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It's a testament to the will of man and the progress we have made. |
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In a sense we've done our best to lay it all to waste. |
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So cavalier and so secure, dressed in our Sunday finest. |
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A debt we all must pay, bit by bit by agonizing pieces of ourselves. |
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To warlords and profiteers all huddled in dark masses, xenophobes and killers. |
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Commercialized regret manufactured in the falsest pretense of sorrow. |
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"Those wretched fools," you'll think, "All huddled in dark masses, ripe for the taking." |
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Sycophants and slaves. |
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Crawl back from whence you came, tormentors. Lie in the bed that you have made. |
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Suffer the fools in silence. |
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Let your actions speak for themselves, because actions speak for themselves. |
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A grinding narrative set on a razor's edge, the culmination of a lifetime. |